


Ritual Sacrifice

by i_paint_the_sky



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_paint_the_sky/pseuds/i_paint_the_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura decides that it is time to cut off her hair. Bill helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the A/R Month of Love at the adama_roslin LJ community. It is set between “The Ties that Bind” and “Escape Velocity.”

Over these last years, Laura had been forced to make many difficult choices. She’d had to leave people behind and later ordered a civilian vessel destroyed. She’d offered a prisoner safety, then had him ejected out an airlock. She’d split the Fleet into factions; she’d advised assassination. She’d almost stolen an election, and she had approved biological warfare. None of these decisions had been easy, but all of then she had believed in, had accepted.

This time was different.

She stood in the head, staring at her reflection. She searched her face, looking for signs of what was happening, signs that she was dying again. She didn’t see them yet but she knew it was only a matter of time. There was one symptom already quite visible, however it was not shown in her face. You had to look down, as Laura did now, to see the stray hairs that had settled in the sink. She watched them for a long moment before making herself turn away.

She heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the door. It made her hesitate, her hand resting on the handle as she considered just staying in here for a few more moments was a fleeting thought – she had never been one to avoid conflict.

As she walked out into the main room of Bill’s quarters, she could feel the tension building already. They had both been on edge ever since that fight and the words turned into weapons by truth. Even though weeks had passed now, the _Demetrius_ mission hung over their heads; the only exception was those moments when her own mortality forced it away. They hadn’t yet found the words or the time to make it all better, maybe because those words did not exist.

She took a few more steps, then paused. Bill was sitting on the couch, jacket undone and eyes fixed on her. Laura crossed the room to the service cart, pouring two glasses. Alcohol and doloxan weren’t exactly a great combination, but tonight she’d make an exception. She took both glasses and walked to stand in front of him. She gave him his drink and took a sip of her own. Neither broke the silence.

Her glass was half empty before she finally said anything. “My hair’s falling out.”

He nodded. “I know. It started about a month ago, same time Kara left.”

She was a bit surprised that he’d noticed right away but perhaps she shouldn’t have been. He was the type of person who thrived on the little details. It was one of the things that made him a great leader, and one of the things she loved about him most.

“Once it started,” she said after a moment, “I had Tory locate a wig. Given the limited options, it isn’t exactly a perfect match, but it will do.” She suppressed a shudder at the thought of wearing that dead thing on her head. It was a darker shade, which would only further emphasize how pale she was getting. How thin. But it would still be a more comforting image than a bald president. She would spare the people – and herself – that.

Bill said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She drained her glass in one final gulp before finding her voice again. “It’s time to cut it off.”

“Alright,” he said before downing his own drink. He stood up slowly. “Should I go?”

Laura was surprised for a moment, but quickly realized that he was assuming that Tory would be coming to help her. “No,” she told him. “I want you do to it.”

He stood silently for a moment, thoughts flickering behind his eyes. Then he nodded and walked toward the head to get the necessary supplies. Laura pulled the desk chair out and sat down on it, placing her trembling hands in her lap and entwining them together. 

Bill returned in a few moments, placing his shaving kit on the desk before standing in front of her, a small pair of scissors in his hands. “Are you ready?”

No.

“Yes.” 

His hand was trembling too as he reached over and lifted the first strands towards their execution. Laura closed her eyes just before she heard the metal blades snap shut. 

It was superficial, she knew, but she loved her hair. She loved how it felt on her shoulders. She loved how it turned red in certain light. She loved to run her fingers through it – though she loved other people doing that even more. She clenched her hands tightly and reminded herself to breathe, as she felt and heard more pieces falling away.

It wasn’t long before this first part was done and already her head felt naked. At one point the phone had rung, but Bill hadn’t answered, saying that anything that didn’t involve Condition One wasn’t worth stopping for. And now he was preparing shaving cream, the first part of a ritual she had witnessed so many times, though never for herself. A voice in the back of Laura’s head reminded her that sharing razors was a bad idea. She answered back that it wasn’t exactly like there was an unlimited supply of toiletries and the disposable razor she used for her legs was far too dull for this task. She would take what she could get and be glad of it.

Though she tried to resist the temptation, eventually she gave in and slowly touched her head. What was left of her hair was short and uneven. She blinked, fighting the threat of tears, as she thanked the gods there wasn’t a mirror in sight.

Bill reached out and touched her hand, pulling it away. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. 

She smiled at him slightly, before placing her hand back safely in her lap. After that was done, he started with the foam. It was warmer than she had expected. She remembered playing with her father’s shaving cream one day and making “art” out of it all over the shower stall. It had been a glorious mess.

Thoughts of her father turned to thoughts of her mother, just as Bill took up the blade. This time she kept her eyes open, knowing that if she didn’t she would be seeing herself in a hospital room, her mother’s hair everywhere except on her head. Besides, with William Adama shaving was more than just a habit, it was a ritual. A ritual that now she would always be part of.

The warmth of the cream was quickly replaced by an odd coldness, as her scalp was exposed to air for the first time since she was a baby. She wondered how long it would take to get used to that sensation. Not that she expected to be bareheaded often – it would feel far too exposed. Or it would, among different company.

This process took longer than the initial cutting, as Bill did his best to make sure it was all even. Laura kept herself from mentioning that even the leftover stubble would fall out in time. Finally he was satisfied and went to put everything away. She sat there, her head feeling colder by the second, and finally let a few tears escape. But only a few. 

Over the last years, she had been forced to make many difficult choices. And she had never let herself cry about any of them. She remembered and sometimes regretted but never cried…except for those few decisions she hadn’t wanted to make.

Laura reached up and rubbed the tears away as Bill walked over to her. There was a mirror in his hand. She reached out and took it. She breathed in deeply. She looked at her reflection. The face was hers yet she barely recognized it; the bone structure looks so much harsher without hair to frame it. Her eyes kept looking for a few more seconds before she laid the mirror down and looked up to where Bill was waiting. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and shaking.

He leaned over and she felt his lips brush against the top of her head. “You’re welcome,” he replied. She closed her eyes as she suddenly felt all tension melt away.

Maybe there weren’t words to erase everything that they had said and done, to erase the fact that they were willing to tear into each other like they had, going for the jugular. But there were actions. 

After all, they always spoke louder than words.


End file.
